


Bigger Than Cheese

by betterlate



Category: Glee
Genre: Child POV, Cute Brittana kid, Family Drama, Gen, Pezberry Friendship, Santana and Brittany have a daughter, parent trap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-03-22 11:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13762722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betterlate/pseuds/betterlate
Summary: Her Mami and her Mama belong together, and no one's going to get in the way of that.





	1. Intro

Iliana was seriously considering bailing out through her bedroom window. That’s how much trouble she was in. And it would serve them right, too, if she disappeared for a while. Her moms would have to talk to each other, for one thing, and maybe that could push them in the right direction.

She wasn’t even sure what Mami had overheard in the kitchen, but the things that Iliana had been saying to Rachel, the way she’d been talking … she knew she wasn’t allowed to talk to grown-ups like that, and Mami’s eyes did that flashing thing and she spoke too calmly when she told Iliana to go to her room and said she’d be up to speak with her in a while. That’s how she knew she was in for it. It didn’t stop her from lashing out a little though. That was just her nature. “Baby Santana,” she could hear Uncle Kurt saying fondly. When she wasn’t so angry at her Mami, that label made her feel proud. Things had escalated quickly then, and ceased just as quickly when Iliana made a hasty, tearful retreat to her room.

Now the voices droned on and on downstairs, Aunt Rachel’s soft and sweet, Mami’s sharper, more serious and clipped at the edges.

Her initial impulse had been to call Mama. She always stepped in on Ily’s behalf, even if it was just to calm Mami down before she blew up. So she’d tiptoed across the hall to where Aunt Rachel’s phone was plugged into the wall charger, snatched it up, and returned to her room. BRITTANY was her second contact, after Artie. Ily waited for her Mama to pick up.

“Rach?” came the familiar voice that made Ily feel warm and safe and desperately sad all at the same time. “Hi! What’s up?”

“Mama, it’s me.”

“Ily? What is it, baby, what’s wrong? Why are you on Auntie Rachel’s phone? Are you okay?”

Iliana waited impatiently for the rapid-fire questions to cease. “I’m in trouble,” she finally said.

“What’s wrong? Where are you?”

Her mama’s voice was sharper than normal, and Ily thought maybe she was thinking something worse than what was actually going on.

“I’m at home,” she said, puzzled. “Where else would I be?”

“Ily, where’s Mami? Is Mami okay? You need to tell me what’s going on, baby.”

“Mami hit me.”

A pause. “ _What_?”

“She came in from work and I was talking to Aunt Rachel and she hit me two times on the butt and made me go to my room and now they’re downstairs fighting and I’m scared.”

“She … she spanked you. God, Iliana, you scared me. I thought you meant…”

“Hitting is never okay, Mama,” Ily lectured primly. “And it _hurt_.”

On the other end of the line, Brittany sighed in what might have been amusement. “No, you’re right. Hitting isn’t a good thing. But a smack on the bottom isn’t exactly—what was she angry at you about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ily.”

“I was telling Aunt Rachel to stop trying to act like my third mommy because I already have two and even though one of them isn’t here right now doesn’t mean I’m looking for a replacement.”

Another long pause. “Well, that doesn’t sound very nice. Why would you say that to Aunt Rachel?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“Ily, you know there are two kinds of truth. The truth you should always tell and the truth that doesn’t have to be spoken out loud because it could hurt someone.”

“This was the first kind.”

“Iliana Marie.”

“Well it was!”

“So Mami walked in while you were being disrespectful to Rachel?”

“Yes, and she yelled at me and I yelled back and then she hit me and now I’m in my room forever. I’m going to starve.”

“You didn’t tell me before, that you yelled back at Mami. Was that the right thing to do?”

Ily grumbled something under her breath.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“No, but she wasn’t listening to me! She never listens to me, Mama, only you ever listen to me. And now Aunt Rachel is here and she treats me like I’m still in kindergarten even though she knows I’m in third grade and I want you to come home. Please come home. I miss you.”

The longest pause yet. When Brittany’s voice came back through, it sounded strained. “I miss you too, my love. Every second. But you know we have the whole weekend coming up? And we’ll do whatever you want and make up for all the snuggles I’m missing and eat doughnuts on Sunday but Ily. This can only happen if you don’t get yourself grounded to your room for a year. It sounds to me like that’s where you’re headed if you don’t start behaving yourself with Mami and Rachel.”

Iliana considered briefly. “Fine. I’ll try.”

“That’s my girl. And in the meantime, it couldn’t hurt to apologize to both of them.”

“Even Mami? She hit me, I didn’t hit her.”

Brittany laughed out loud at that. “And if you like being able to sit down, I suggest that you never do, okay? Listen, put Aunt Rachel’s phone back and wait for Mami to come talk to you. If I know her, she’s feeling bad for blowing up. All you have to do is hear her out, tell her you’re sorry and you’ll try harder, and it’ll all be over, okay?”

Ily sighed deeply. “Okay. I love you, Mama.”

“I love you bigger than cheese.”

Iliana giggled at this strange and familiar saying, a holdover from her toddler days. The second the call cut out, she tiptoed back across the hall to put Rachel’s phone back.

On her way back to her bedroom, she ran right into Mami.

 

TBC...

 

 


	2. Pain Is Not Community Property

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana and Iliana talk.

 “You’re supposed to be in your room, young lady. What are you doing?”  

Facing off in the hallway between the two bedrooms, Iliana set her jaw and glared at her Mami, who glared right back with mirror-image dark eyes. “I had to make a phone call,” she said defiantly.

“Who did—you know what, never mind. Get back in there, sit down.” She stood back and waited for her daughter to walk past her and flop down on her bed, skinny little arms crossed stubbornly over her chest.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“About what?”

Santana rolled her eyes. “You _know_ about what, Iliana, don’t play games with me. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not either.”

“Watch your mouth. I’ve heard more than enough backtalk out of you for one day.”

“You say it’s backtalk but I say it’s just talk. How do I know which is which?”

“Iliana Marie, do you want to do this the hard way? Because we can do this the hard way, that’s up to you.”

Ily bit back a smart reply because she didn’t know what “the hard way” was but she didn’t think she wanted to find out.

“Mama said I should apologize,” she said instead.

Mami’s eyebrow went up. “Ah. Yes, I assumed that was the ‘phone call’ you had to make.”

“She said I should apologize to Aunt Rachel and to you.”

“That sounds like pretty good advice, for a start. What do you think?”

“I’m too mad to apologize to you right now.”

Santana eyed her daughter carefully for a moment, then nodded. “That’s fair,” she said. “I know it’s hard to say you’re sorry when you’re angry, and we’ll talk more about that in a minute. But you’re _going_ to apologize to Rachel the second we’re done here, and you’re _going_ to make it good. You will not make it sound like I forced you to apologize. If you do that, it doesn’t count and you’re back at square one.”

“What’s square one?”

“Sitting in your room until I say you can come out.”

“How long would that be?”

“As long as it takes for you to give Rachel the apology you owe her.”

Ily frowned, considering. “I have school tomorrow.”

Santana studied her daughter as if she were trying to decide if the girl was being a smartass or just an eight-year-old. Finally she gave up on that and sat down next to her on the bed.

“Ily, I know you’re mad and confused and upset. And sad. I know that. It’s a hard time for our family right now. But there are things that are just not ever going to be allowed, even when you’re super upset and super angry. And some of those things happened down in the kitchen earlier.”

“You hit me,” Ily said, still hanging on to her righteous anger over the fact. “Hitting’s not allowed, is it?”

Santana shook her head. “I smacked your butt because you were screaming at me and you had it coming. You know the difference.”

“So _you’re_ not going to apologize?”

“Oh, you better be joking. You think you’re gonna turn this around on me?”

Ily shrugged and bit her lip. “I thought I’d give it a shot.”

Smirking slightly, Santana gently bumped Iliana’s shoulder with her own. “Not on your best day, newbie. Now I want you to tell me something. Why are you so angry at Rachel? She has never done anything but love you and spoil you and be kind to you. What did she do to make you so mad?”

“I don’t know.”  

“I think you do.”

“I don’t want her here.”

“Her new show opens in a week, and then we won't get to see her much at all. Besides. You’ve always loved it when she comes to visit.”

“It was different before.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want her here,” Ily repeated, getting frustrated. “I want Mama here.”

Santana’s expression didn’t change, but she nodded slowly, as if this confirmed her suspicion. “Baby, I know you miss Mama. I know things suck right now, but we’re going to get through it, okay? I promise.”

Iliana pulled away when Mami tried to wrap her arm around her shoulders. “I don’t _want_ to get through it,” she said, her pulse starting to pound in her ears like it did when she got really upset. “I want it to go back to the way it was!”

“Oh, honey.”

“No! No, don’t touch me. I want my mama.”

Santana blinked rapidly as Iliana scooted away from her, retreating to the head of the bed and out of reach. The girl’s eyes were flooded with unshed tears and the air in the room had turned heavy and volatile in a span of seconds. Santana tried to gather her own emotions, forcing out a steady, soothing tone. “You have the whole weekend, Ily. You’ll be with her all weekend.”

Frustrated and out of words, Iliana curled onto her side, her back to her Mami, and gave in to the tears. She sensed Mami standing over her for long moments, as if trying to decide what to do or say. A soft hand brushed some stray locks of dark hair out of her face and she flinched and fought the urge to swat it away.

Finally, Mami found her voice. But all she said was “Dinner’s in half an hour. You need to apologize to Aunt Rachel before then.”

And she left the room.


	3. This Won't Do at All

Aunt Rachel wasn’t even mad in the first place, so Ily didn’t really see the point of apologizing. But with her Mami standing over her with one eyebrow raised expectantly, Ily knew she should go on with it. She cleared her throat and avoided Rachel’s kind brown eyes, instead picking at some nonexistent lint on her tee-shirt.

“Sorry, Aunt Rachel,” she said in a voice that was somewhere between a murmur and a grumble.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s fine,” Rachel started, but Santana spoke over her.

“I don’t know about you, Rach, but I don’t speak mumble. Try again, Iliana.”

Iliana huffed out a breath and shifted her weight from foot to foot, embarrassed that she had an audience for a forced apology.

“I’m sorry,” she said, enunciating more carefully, but this time her words came out with a sharp edge that had Santana’s eyebrow shooting up even higher in warning. Heeding it, she hurried to add: “For um, earlier. For being um. You know. Rude, and stuff.”

Santana opened her mouth to offer another critique, but Rachel shushed her by waving a hand in her direction and approached Ily. “I accept your apology, sweetheart,” she said. “Thank you. And I’m sorry too.”

Iliana was surprised, and it showed on her face as she met Rachel’s eyes for the first time. “What are you sorry for?” she asked.

“Yeah, what are _you_ sorry for?” Santana repeated, but Rachel didn’t even spare her a glance.

“You were right, Ily. I was overstepping my bounds, acting like I was another mom to you, and I know you have two amazing ones already. It’s just that I’ve known you your whole life and I love you and … I guess sometimes I don’t realize how strongly I come across. Or so I’ve been told.”

“Whoa, hold up a second,” Santana interrupted. “First of all, since when are _you_ so self-aware? And secondly, _please_ do not tell this child that it’s okay to be mouthy and disrespectful to an adult just because she doesn’t like what they have to say. She’s a kid, you’re not, she can’t talk to you like that. Period. Iliana Marie, you’re lucky Aunt Rachel is a pushover, because I’m telling you, if you tried that crap with me…”

Iliana’s eyes widened. “I don’t have a death wish!” she said in such a scandalized tone that her Mami actually cracked a smile. Rachel stepped forward and dropped a kiss on top of Ily’s head. “Now, can we eat dinner, finally? I made meat for you guys. _Meat_.”

 

* * *

 

Iliana woke from a nightmare in which she was lost in a crowd. She kept seeing flashes of blonde hair ahead of her and she was almost sure it was Mama, but every time she almost got close enough to make sure, someone stepped in her way, pushing her back into the crush of bodies.

She was halfway down the stairs, her heart pounding and tears stinging her eyes, when she heard Mami and Rachel’s voices. Something in their tones made her stop in her tracks, and she sank silently onto one of the steps to listen. From her angle halfway up the staircase, she could just make out the two women sitting on the couch, an almost-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table between them. Mami’s knees were drawn up underneath her, her hair was tousled like it got when she’d been running her hands through it, and she had—Iliana had to blink several times to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing—yes, _tears_ streaming down her cheeks. Rachel’s voice was soft, soothing, but when her Mami spoke, it was scratchy and heavy with emotion. Iliana wanted to go to her, to climb up next to her and hug her and make the tears stop, but instead she just kept, well, eavesdropping.

“…not even going to hear me out, and it’s so unlike her, you know? To be so unforgiving? I mean she couldn’t hold a grudge if it had handles, Berry, so why is she doing this to me? To _us_?”

“Santana, I know it’s not my place to get involved, but if you would just let me talk to her, maybe I could…”

“What? Save our marriage? Please.”

“Not what I meant. I just think that you guys need some kind of unbiased third party. Someone who loves you both and who doesn’t have any preconceived notions about what each of you should be doing differently.”

“Are you kidding me? _You’re_ unbiased? You. Rachel, you’ve seen me at my utter hellbitch worst; don’t tell me you don’t think I’m somehow to blame for this garbage fire that was once my marriage.”

“It’s not _over_.”

“She moved _out_.”

“She just needs space.”

“Away from me? Away from _our daughter_? What the hell even is that? Where does she get off running away like that?”

“See, that right there. The anger is what you keep falling back on, Santana, and it’s not doing you any favors. When you talk to her, you lead with it. I’ve heard you. She’s avoiding it, she’s avoiding you, not because she doesn’t miss you and love you and want to talk to you but because she’s not ready to deal with what’s underneath your anger.”

“Oh my GOD, Berry, spare me the pop-psychology bullshit, okay?” Santana swiped at her eyes, leaving smudges of mascara where the tears had been.

“Am I wrong?”

“About what? Am I angry? Hell yes I’m angry. I have a right to be.”

“But it’s not solid anger, is it? It’s mostly hurt. Confusion. It’s the same thing Ily’s dealing with, and you clearly aren’t letting _her_ anger call the shots. Why does yours get to?”

“Look. This isn’t about me. This is about _Brittany_. Her betrayal. Her abandonment. She left me here holding everything together. Holding _Iliana_ together, and I can’t even do that right without her.”

“You need her.”

“I need her to get her shit together and come home.”             

Rachel stood up from the couch and Iliana prepared to run back up the stairs to the safety of her room if she needed to. But Rachel only leaned down and gave Santana a kiss on the cheek, gently pried her fingers from around the empty wineglass she was holding, and said in an even lower voice, “Then get _your_ shit together and figure out a way to fix this.”

“Hey, where are you going with that? I was about to open another bottle.”

Rachel’s musical laugh sounded from the kitchen as she walked out of the room. “Not on my watch, Lopez.”

Ily held her place for a few minutes more, but Rachel didn’t come back and Mami didn’t move except to occasionally dab at her eyes with a crumpled, makeup-stained napkin. She suddenly felt like she was spying, even though technically she had been doing so for a good ten minutes. But seeing her fierce and tough and strong and powerful Mami so vulnerable, so broken, and without anyone at her side, it made Ily feel sick deep in her stomach, or maybe in her heart. She scooted backwards up the steps on her butt, slowly so she didn’t make any noise at all.

They couldn’t go on like this. And if Aunt Rachel was right, then Iliana’s mothers weren’t going to fix this on their own, without a little assistance. Under the covers, she closed her eyes and tried to formulate a plan.

 

 

 


	4. Second Thoughts Always Come Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iliana sort of runs away and Rachel sort of freaks out about it. (If you care, Brittana is up next chapter.)

Setting out without a plan was maybe not the smartest thing to do, but Iliana was low on options, so she went with it. She’d left a hastily written note on her pillow, scrawled in red crayon in her best third-grade print:

**“Dear Mami and Mama, don’t be mad. I am ok. I will come home when you make up. Love, Ily.”**

She knew the first sentence was pointless, because they were going to be really, _really_ mad—even Mama. Wandering around the city was expressly forbidden, and she was only about a year out from having to hold one of their hands when they were anywhere beyond the front doors of their apartment building. Iliana knew they were overprotective but didn’t know the word for it. She did, however, know enough to leave the note. She didn’t actually want them to have a heart attack.

It was early when she left, her backpack filled with a couple bags of chips, two water bottles, a banana, and some cookies. Mama would be proud of her about the banana, she’d thought as she crammed it in among the food and some wadded-up clothes and her toothbrush (another plus!).

The sun had just come up and it was Saturday, so there weren’t many people around. She got a couple of curious looks that made her a little nervous, but she just kept walking with purpose, thinking that if she looked like she knew what she was doing, other people would believe she did. She couldn’t just walk around the city all day, though, and after about an hour, she was really tired and thirsty and kind of lost. The buildings looked familiar, but she couldn’t say with any certainty which way was the way back home, or which way to Mama’s dance studio, or which way to her school … so, she guessed she was lost.

No big deal, though. They wouldn’t even be looking for her for a couple of hours, she knew. Mami slept in late on weekends, and Aunt Rachel probably wouldn’t open Iliana’s door, not now that they had their new ground rules about the boundaries of their relationship.

By the time she’d found a bench to sit down on, dug through her bag and cracked open one of the water bottles, drinking greedily, she was starting to rethink the whole thing.

* * *

What Iliana didn’t know was that Rachel _had_ come looking for her early that morning. And she was the one who found the note. After tamping down her knee-jerk reaction, which was to fling herself onto Santana’s bed screaming, _“Ily’s gone!”_ and likely get socked in the nose for her trouble, Rachel used her superlative breath control to resume normal respiration. Then she called Kurt.

“Do you know what time it is?” he asked in a tone that was dangerously close to a whine.

“Iliana ran away,” she blurted out, glancing back to make sure Santana hadn’t crept up behind her.

_“What?”_

“I came in to see if she wanted to come with me to get breakfast while Santana sleeps off her hangover, of course I wouldn’t have told Iliana her mother has a hangover, but she drank a lot last night, Kurt, and she got really sloppy and you know this whole separation is absolutely destroying her, I’m really worried—”

“Rachel! Focus!”

“Right. Yes. Iliana’s bed was empty and there was a note on her pillow saying she’s okay but isn’t coming home until her moms make up. What should I do?”

“Oh my God, well, first of all you need to make sure she’s really gone. Have you checked the whole house?”

“No, I found the note and I called you.”

“Why me, Rach? Why am I your go-to person for a missing child?”

“I don’t know, I mean, I thought about telling Santana, but it seemed unwise until I’ve investigated further. Right? She has a tendency to get a little … well, scary when she’s upset.”

“Rachel Berry, get your ass downstairs and tell Santana her little girl is missing. I’ll call Britt. They’ll want to call the police, but in the meantime we can all split up and look around. She couldn’t have gone far, right? She’s little.”

“She is little. Oh, Kurt, you think she’ll be okay, don’t you?”

“I think she’ll be fine until her moms get their hands on her. Call me back after you’ve survived telling Santana. I’m calling Brittany now.”

* * *

Iliana had settled in a little park across the street from a doughnut shop. She sat on one of the swings, dragging her feet in the dirt and making little patterns and worrying. Why had this seemed like a smart thing to do? Surely there were other ways to get her mommies talking again. She could’ve played sick. She could’ve waited until she was with Mama for the weekend, pretended that she was sick and really wanted Mami there, and then they would’ve had to be in the same room without fighting.

They hadn’t been able to do that for a long time. Iliana wasn’t sure how long the fighting had been going on, but she knew it had started as a tension, little jabs exchanged here and there that were supposed to go over her head. (Their meanings usually did, but not the emotion behind them.) Then it had escalated into quiet yelling behind closed doors. She only pressed her ear up to the door a few times, and she came away with the vague understanding that Mama was upset about the hours Mami worked and Mami was upset about the hours Mama worked and that Mama’s new studio co-director had something to do with the whole thing. His name came up a bunch of times, mostly from Mami, and mostly in a mean tone.

Then one day the fighting stopped being quiet and behind closed doors, and Iliana still didn’t understand a lot of what they shouted at each other but she knew enough to know that it wasn’t good. It came to a head one night when they got especially heated and Iliana had stormed down the stairs, screamed at them to _shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!_ —and then fallen to the floor sobbing.

Silence had descended over the room, and then after a few moments Mama had picked her up off the floor and carried her back to bed. She’d lain with Iliana for a long time, stroking her hair and whispering comforting words in her ear until she’d fallen asleep.

The next day she moved out.

It still hurt just as much as it did that day, no matter how many assurances she got from how many people that it was nothing she’d done wrong, or that it was a grown-up problem and her moms were dealing with it and everything would be okay and everyone loved her more than anything in the world.

None of that mattered when her world was torn in two.

As she continued dragging her heels through the dirt under the swing, she started to wonder if maybe this would make things worse, instead of better. What if they blamed each other? That seemed to be what they did all the time these days. Mama would say Mami should have been watching Ily more carefully, Mami would say Ily never would’ve done this if Mama hadn’t left.

Suddenly she felt like throwing up the banana she’d just eaten.

It had only been two hours, but she was suddenly convinced running away had been a huge mistake.

 


	5. Forcing the Hand of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a little blackmail for the greater good?

The sight of Iliana Pierce-Lopez sitting on a swing in an empty park, not even swinging but lazily dragging her heels through the dirt beneath, was enough to send Kurt’s heart into his throat. She looked so little, so _helpless_ , and regardless of how badass her moms were, she was eight years old.  How many creeps could have happened upon her in the time it took him and Blaine to get here? He shot a look over his shoulder at Blaine and they broke out into a jog to reach her. Ily looked up from under her bangs, big dark eyes so sad and worried that Kurt’s scolding died on his lips and he just plucked her from the swing, scooped her up into his arms, and hugged her tight.

“Are you okay?” he asked, feeling her nod against his shoulder even though her arms were locked around his neck and she didn’t seem willing to let go.

“I’m calling the girls,” Blaine announced, walking away a few steps and fishing his phone out of his pocket.

Iliana looked up at Kurt. “Does he have to call them right now? I’m gonna be in so much trouble.”

Kurt nodded. “Probably, yeah. But we can’t let them worry any longer. Everyone has been looking for you; your moms and Aunt Rach are worried sick, Blaine and I almost killed ourselves getting here when you called. Ily, what were you thinking?”

“I just want them to be better,” Ily said. “They belong together, Uncle Kurt. I thought if they were worried about me they’d have to _talk_ , at least.”

“How did you call us, anyway?” Kurt asked, frowning. “Don’t tell me you conned Britt into buying you a phone at your age.”

“No, there was a man here before, he asked if I was lost and let me use his phone.”

“A man?” Kurt asked sharply. “Iliana Marie Pierce-Lopez, I _know_ you know better than to talk to strangers.”

“Of _course_ I do,” she said giving him a withering look that was so utterly _Santana_ that he almost laughed. “But this was an emergency. Besides, I told him I’m a black belt in karate and I have a switchblade in my back pocket and I can scream super loud.”

Kurt stared at the child, certain that she wasn’t kidding. “What did he say to that?” he asked, curious.

“He laughed, because grownups think it’s funny for some reason when kids threaten them, and then he promised to stay on the other side of the playground while I made my call.”

“Okay, well, then I’m proud of you for using your head. I just wish you’d used it before you decided to run away.”

“Uncle Kurt?”

“Yes, Iliana.”

“Can you change the past? Do you have a time machine like my Mama says she does?”

Kurt sighed. “No, Iliana, I can’t, and I don’t.”

“Well, then. How about we stop talking about what I _should_ have done different and focus on what we gotta do now.”

Kurt gave her an appraising look, lost for words momentarily. Just then, Blaine walked back to them. “We’re taking her home. They’re on their way back there now; they’ve been driving all over.”

“Are they together?” Ily asked. “Like, together?”

Blaine smiled kindly at her. “I think the three of them are, yes.”

“Oh. Rachel.”

Kurt ruffled her hair and she ducked, scowling at him in a way that was utterly adorable but he wouldn’t have risked telling her so. “I don’t think it’s the runaway’s place to coordinate search party designations.”

Iliana squared her shoulders and drew herself up to her full height, which. Wasn’t exactly intimidating. “Uncle Kurt,” she said exasperatedly. “Mami and Mama need to be alone together. They need to talk. I need you to help me.”

Taken aback, Kurt looked from his little niece to his husband, brow furrowed. Blaine shrugged. The three of them stood there, staring at one another, until Iliana Marie Pierce-Lopez opened her mouth, a smaller carbon copy of her Mami’s, and began to outline her terms.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell do you mean she won’t see us? That is the most ridiculous—”

“Santana, just listen to me, okay? She’s safe, she’s perfectly fine, there’s no reason to worry. But she wants … no, she _needs_ … for you and Britt to have some time alone together, to talk things out. She’s willing to come home, but only after you two have had a few hours. Alone. Those are her—”

“What, Kurt? Her _demands_? She’s freaking eight years old, Hummel, she doesn’t get to call the shots! Put her on the phone.”

Kurt cringed, glad that, at least, this conversation was happening over the phone and not face to face. “She’s not here, Santana.”

“What? Kurt Hummel, I swear to God, if you’re—”

There was a muffled conversation on the other end of the line, then Brittany’s voice. “Promise she’s fine? I mean really fine?”

“Brittany, of course she’s fine, I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“And all she wants is for me and Santana to … talk?”

“Yes.”

“And then you’ll bring her home. No more addendums, no revisions; these are the terms.”

“Yes.”

“Then tell her she has a deal. We’re sending Rachel away—sorry, Rach, Ily’s orders—and San and I are going to talk. But Iliana needs to be here, at our apartment, by noon, no take-backs.”

“You got it.”

“And Kurt?”

“Hm?”

“Please tell her this doesn’t mean anything is going to change, okay? Be nice about it, but … she needs to know this is grownup stuff, and there’s a lot of—”

“I’ll tell her, Britt.”  

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you _negotiated_ , Brittany. That kid does not call the shots. She doesn’t get to scare the hell out of all of us and then tell us what we have to do to fix it.”

“Santana, she’s just trying to—”

“I know exactly what she’s trying to do, and it’s not her place to do it! This is not kid stuff, Britt; this is not something that a little girl has any business trying to FIX. It’s our crap, not hers.”

“She loves us.”

“Yeah, no shit, Britts, I do too, but sometimes that’s not enough. You proved that when you walked out.”

“San.”

“No, it’s true. If love were this end-all-be-all that the romantic idiots of the world would have us believe, then you and I? We would’ve had smooth sailing all the way, because we were the best. And if we can’t make it work, then you tell me how in the hell Joe Blow and Jane Doe are supposed to make it. Because they’re not half as awesome as we are, and we screwed it all up anyway. We have the _best_ love, the _best_ story, the _best_ kid, the best friends even if they’re assholes who sometimes help our daughter screw us over, but Brittany? It wasn’t enough, and that means it’s all bullshit.”

“Santana.”

“Do you even love me anymore?” Her voice cracked on the words, and she bit down hard on her lip.

“That’s an incredibly stupid question, and you know how I feel about that word.”

“It’s a _fair_ question, given that you _walked out on me_.”

“I did it for us. I did it for Ily.”

Santana barked out a laugh. “Oh, you did it for ILY. Because, you know, she cried herself to sleep every night for the first month? She started swearing like a sailor and getting into trouble at school and doing everything in her power to piss me off because she blamed me for you leaving. So if that was your goal? And I think it probably actually was, Britt, because I know you and I know you do everything out of love. But I’m sorry, if that was your goal, you fucked it all up. All you did was break our hearts.”

Brittany put her face in her hands and took deep breaths. Santana dug her nails into her palms to keep herself from reaching out to her wife, offering comfort even though it was her who had caused the pain.

When Brittany raised her head and pinned Santana with bright blue eyes that were shimmering with unshed tears, it was clear that they were going to fight. Santana braced herself, but at the same time she thought _Good. That means there’s something left to fight for._ She waited.

 

* * *

 

Iliana was being plied with snacks at Uncle Kurt and Uncle Blaine’s, and she was content enough to be there, where she could imagine that everything with her moms was going perfectly well and her not-really-a-plan was going exactly as it was meant to. When Rachel showed up after about an hour, she squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, readying herself for being scolded, but Rachel just perched next to her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “Never do that again,” she whispered.

“I won’t,” Ily promised. “I’m sorry, Aunt Rachel.”

Rachel just held her tighter.

They all waited, and hoped.

 

* * *

**So it seems my problem is that I have diametrically opposed needs. On the one hand, I need feedback to keep me motivated. On the other hand, seeing the hits pile up makes me anxious, like anything I write will be shitty and everyone will hate me for having wasted their time. So you know what I'm gonna do? I'm going to write what I want to write and hope that you like it. If you do, please tell me so. If you don't, yeah, maybe just keep it to yourself, because I'm not one of those people with a bulletproof ego that can take criticism well. Which is why I probably shouldn't be putting stuff out for public consumption in the first place, but ... see need #1. I do appreciate kudos and SUPER appreciate reviews. But mostly I just want to write what I want to read, so that's what I'm doing. Have a good day, and hit me up if you're so inclined.**

 

 


	6. This Is How We Crumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking back, moving forward.

_Four months before._

She didn’t know when it had started, or how, but she knew things were all wrong between her mommies. It was in the way they spoke in clipped tones and didn’t cuddle on the couch when they were watching TV after dinner. It was in the way Mama sighed after getting early evening phone calls from Mami, before announcing that it was pizza night again because it would just be the two of them … again. It was in the way Mami would come home after Ily was already in bed and strained whispers would float up the stairs, sometimes getting louder until she could pick out actual words and none of them sounded very nice. It was _definitely_ in the way they both seemed preoccupied and easily annoyed—even Mama, who was usually the most patient person in the world, had been getting onto Ily for what she felt were unfair and unimportant things like forgetting to hang up her towel after her bath and using words like “crap,” which Mami used all the time and wasn’t even one of the really bad words she knew but would never let her mommies hear her say. _(“It’s not a nice word and I don’t want to hear it from you anymore,” Mama had said. “But why, though? Mami doesn’t care if I say it,” Iliana countered, genuinely confused and not really trying to argue. “Listen, MAMI doesn’t always have the best judgment, Iliana, and I said no, so knock it off.”)_

It was mostly in the quiet, though. There was something scary and sad in the way the whole house seemed quiet even when it shouldn’t have, even when they did manage to have dinner together or watch TV like they used to before all this … weirdness started. Iliana hated that heavy quiet, she thought, more than even the arguing.

One night she was sitting in the kitchen trying to do her math homework, but she needed Mama’s help. Her mama was doing the dishes at the sink and her mami had disappeared as soon as she’d cleared the table. Now the only sounds were sloshing soapy water and the slightly-too-hard clanking of ceramic against ceramic.

“Mama, I can’t do this!” Ily said for the third or fourth time.

“San, can you please come help Iliana with her homework?” her Mama called, and there was something strange in her tone. A challenge?

Mami appeared in the kitchen doorway, her handbag under one arm. “James just called; I have to go back to the office.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was kidding; this case is killing me.”

Ily’s mama barked out a laugh but it didn’t sound like she thought anything was funny at all. “This case is killing us all,” she said.

“Brittany.” There was a note of warning in Mami’s voice, and Iliana glanced up from her wrinkled worksheet in time to catch the glance Mami threw her way.

Mama turned off the faucet and wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “Baby girl, go upstairs for a minute,” she said, not even glancing at Ily, who didn’t move. Maybe if she stayed put, they’d stop.

“Britt, you knew this was going to be a big deal. We talked about it, about the hours I’d have to put in. This case could make or break me; I have to be available when the partners call.”

“I guess I didn’t know it was going to be a bigger deal than your family, is all,” Mama said, tossing the dishtowel onto the counter. “I haven’t seen you for a week, other than odd hours here and there. When is the last time we even went to bed at the same time, or saw each other in the morning?”

“And that’s all on me? _Really_. Really you want to go there?”

“If you have something to say…”

“I have plenty to say, I just don’t have time to say it because _I have to go to work_. Jesus Christ, Brittany, you pick the worst times to fight.”

“Next time I’ll make an appointment, then. You can pencil me in.”

“Fine, do that. And I’ll make a note to point out that you and _Christopher_ manage to work plenty of hours yourselves, and they just happen to be the opposite ones that I’m on. What do you think his endgame is?”

“Don’t you dare go down that road again, Santana Lopez. That’s unfair and hurtful and you know it.”

“Like you implying that I’m choosing to work these ungodly hours over spending time with my wife and little girl?”

“I’m not _implying_ anything, San.”

“Wow. Wow, Brittany, I don’t even know what’s happening to you.”

“Yeah? Maybe that’s something we need to discuss. You know, when you have _time_.”

Her mommies seemed to have both forgotten she was sitting there, pencil poised over her paper, angry tears standing in her eyes. She looked at them looking at each other, the glares they were shooting each other’s way like nothing she’d seen between them in all her eight years of life.

“I have to go,” Mami finally said, her voice husky with either hurt or anger or both. “I’ll see you tomorrow if you and Christopher don’t pull another all-nighter.”

“Fine, go. Don’t worry about us. Not that you would.”

Mami seemed to suddenly remember that Iliana was still in the room. Her eyes locked on their daughter and her mouth fell open. Mama followed her gaze and did an almost perfect imitation of her wife’s expression. Iliana stood up shakily from the table, threw down her pencil, wadded up her undone math homework sheet, and threw it in their direction. “You’re both being stupid!” she shouted. “These are stupid fights and stupid mean words and I don’t like either one of you!”

With that, she stormed out and up to her room, slamming the door for all she was worth and sobbing into her pillow until she fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

_Present day._

Iliana was silent on the way home. She sat in the cab sandwiched between Uncle Kurt and Aunt Rachel, holding Rachel’s hand and fretting. What if it hadn’t worked? What if it had only made things worse? Maybe the whole thing had been a horrible idea thought up by a horrible little kid who only thought she knew how to put her family back together. Maybe she’d risked being grounded for life and only succeeded in driving the wedge even wider between her mommies.

As if reading her thoughts, Kurt glanced over at her and said, “Iliana, you know, the only two people who can fix a relationship are the ones involved in it. If your moms aren’t ready to work things out, then there’s nothing any of us can do but wait and see.”

“I’ve been waiting for a long time,” Iliana murmured. “They’re not getting better on their own.”

“That’s true. And that might mean that they’re just not ready to work things out. Or it might mean something else. Either way, it’s not something we can force. If we could, Rachel and I would’ve had your moms back together a long time ago.”

“But also, Iliana,” Rachel broke in, “It’s important to remember that even if they aren’t ready to work out their issues, that is in no way a reflection on their love for you. They love you so much there aren’t even words for it. You know that, don’t you?”

Iliana bit her lip and nodded. She didn’t need the pep talks. She needed to see her mommies together, in the same room for the first time in a zillion months, and read the air. See if that weird heavy quiet had lifted at all, see if they sat closer together on the couch or communicated with their eyes like they used to. She would know, once she saw them, if they were going to be okay. She would know.

 

 

 


	7. Healing Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to fix this.

Kurt had to practically drag Ily up the stairs, his arm wound around her waist as she let her feet dangle—bump, bump, bump as they ascended to the Pierce-Lopezes’ apartment. No sooner had they stepped through the door than Iliana left the ground completely as she was swept up into strong arms and squeezed so tightly she could barely breathe. That was okay, though, because her mama’s shampoo filled her senses, lilac and mint and the scent _of actual love_ , and Iliana was only a little surprised, as her thin arms wound around Mama’s neck and she squeezed back just as tightly, that she was more happy to see her than she was uneasy about the hellfire that was surely about to rain down.

There were soothing whispers in her ear, comfort combined with scolding _(oh my baby, don’t you ever do anything like that again sweetheart we love you so much it’s okay you’re safe now Mama’s got you)_ and suddenly Iliana was sobbing into her mama’s soft hair.

From what seemed like a great distance Iliana heard Rachel start to speak, then her mami’s voice cut her off and then the front door opened and closed and when Ily finally raised her face from the nook between Mama’s shoulder and neck, the three of them were alone. Mama. Mami. Ily.

After more long moments Mama shifted Iliana to perch on her hip, and Iliana would have protested at being held like a baby but for two things: One, she didn’t want to let go and didn’t think she could be pried away from Mama for anything in the world. Two, now that she could see Mami, she saw that her eyes were dark and dangerous and locked on Iliana like the _only_ thing stopping her from tearing into her right now was that she would have to physically remove her from her mama’s arms before she did so.

Ily reburied her face in Mama’s shoulder. Mama’s right hand came up to rub her back.

“You’re coddling her, Britt.”

“I want to cuddle her.”

“I said _coddling_ , not cuddling. There’s a difference—”

“I _know that,_ Santana. God, I’m not stupid.”

No. _No!_

Iliana jerked her head up and glared between them both. “You’re still _fighting_!” she shouted accusingly, her heart feeling like it could only take one more crack before shattering completely.

“We’re not fighting, Ily, we’re just … we’re so so so happy you’re home, but it was scary. You scared us, baby, and when people are afraid for the ones they love, they get kind of snippy.”

Iliana chanced another look at her mami, whose jaw was still set sternly, her full lips pressed together, but her hand reached out and brushed a strand of Ily’s hair out of her eyes, so she was maybe not quite as scary, now.

“Are you okay?” Mami asked quietly. It was the question that had plagued her since Rachel had awakened her that morning with the most alarming words ever uttered.

Ily nodded. Mami nodded back, as if confirming to herself that her girl was actually here, unharmed, answering the only question that really mattered. If Ily didn’t know better, she’d think that the shininess of her mami’s eyes was a little weird, that maybe she’d been crying or was about to … but that was silly. Mami was tough. Strong. The strongest person she knew.

As if to prove it, Santana nodded again, firmly, sniffed, and jerked her head toward the stairs. “Go wait in your room. Mama and I will be up to talk to you shortly.”

Iliana tightened her grip on Brittany's neck. “No,” she said. “I want to stay with Mama.”

“Brittany, put her down. Iliana Marie, you are going to do exactly as I say or you’re going to be sorry; do you understand me? You’ve put us through hell today, and you’re lucky your mama’s here to talk me out of giving you the spanking you deserve right this second. But if you say one more word, I’m going to overrule her. Now, go to your room while we finish talking. It’s what you wanted, right? Isn’t that why we went through all of this?”  

Mama gave her one final squeeze and then set Iliana on her feet. Ily had so many important things to say but managed to hold her tongue, not really trusting that a) her mami wouldn’t just haul off and start whacking her butt right here, right now or b) she would be able to say what she wanted to say without falling apart completely. As she turned toward the stairs that led to the bedrooms, though, something snagged the collar of her tee-shirt and she was tugged backward a couple of steps. Before she knew it, she had been lifted into the air again and was being squished against Mami, tighter even than Mama had held her. She didn’t say anything, and Mami didn’t either. That was their way. But when Mami pressed an almost painful kiss against the side of her head and then set her back down, her meaning was plain enough.

 

* * *

 

Santana and Brittany watched their girl until she had rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, then listened for the sound of her bedroom door closing. Then they turned to each other, once more at a loss. It hadn’t been easy, the hours since they’d received Kurt’s call telling them that Iliana wouldn’t come home until they had had some time alone together. Some wounds were still fresh, some slights, both perceived and real, had spent too many months festering, for them to douse everything with antiseptic and call it good enough.

Besides. They had always been _better_ than good enough, and this was no time to start settling for less.

There had been yelling. There had been tears. There had been silent distance and even more silent closeness. Santana had masked her hurt with anger, and Brittany had sliced through it easily and uncovered what was underneath. She’d been doing that since they were kids, after all, and it came as naturally to her as ever.

There had been airing of grievances and clearing of the air.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, they had been holding each other, arms wrapped around bodies, fingers tangled in hair, tears mingling on cheeks. _I’m sorries_ and _I love yous_ and _I’ll nevers_. _I didn’t means_ and _I wouldn’ts_. And _I’ll always. Always. Always._

Right there on the couch they had reminded one another of all the things they’d thought had been forgotten. Right there, they’d begun the healing process. 

(Some things, Iliana would never need to know.)

 

* * *

 

Now it was time to heal the rest of their family. Santana went first, because Brittany had hurt Iliana more deeply. She kissed Brittany, gathered her patience, and went to make amends with their daughter.


	8. Marshmallow Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana and Iliana talk.

Iliana was lying flat on her back on the bed when Mami walked in, and she didn’t turn her head or acknowledge her in any way.

“Scoot,” Mami said without preamble, gently prodding Ily over on the bed so she could lie next to her. She complied easily enough, and mother and daughter lay there silently for several long moments, staring at the ceiling and engaged in their own thoughts.

“I guess I don’t really need to ask why you did what you did,” Mami said at last.

“Nope,” Ily agreed.

“And you did it knowing that you’d be in huge trouble when we got you back home. So it must have been pretty important to you, huh.”

“Uh huh.”

“You know, when I was about your age, my mami and papi started fighting a lot.”

“Abuela and Abuelo?” Ily asked, turning her head to look at her mami in surprise.

“Yeah. I know it seems crazy now because they seem so happy and that was so long ago.”

“When you were my age? That’s a million years ago!”

“Hey, watch it.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, I remember how it made me feel when they were fighting. I felt upset, and helpless, and scared. Even angry. They were always getting onto me for my temper, and here they were bringing the house down with their yelling. It seemed unfair. But mostly I was just afraid they weren’t going to stay together. A lot of my friends’ parents were divorced and I couldn’t even picture my mami and papi not being married anymore. It was awful.”

Ily shifted on the bed and reached for one of her mami’s hands, idly playing with her long fingers. “What happened?” she asked quietly.

“They worked it out. And I never really found out what it was that was wrong between them. I asked Mami once and she told me it was nothing for me to worry about, which I thought was stupid. How could I not worry?”

“You and mama say that to me sometimes,” Ily pointed out. “Uncle Kurt does too. And Aunt Rachel and Uncle Blaine.”

Santana sighed. “I guess that makes you feel like it made me feel when I was a kid, huh?”

“Pissed.”

“Iliana.”

“Sorry. It makes me mad.”

“Mija, you don’t think you have anything to do with Mama’s and my fighting, do you?”

There was a long pause, which served as confirmation to Santana. “Do you?” she repeated.

The little girl took a shaky breath before trying to convey grown-up concepts and emotions with her eight-year-old vocabulary. “I don’t think it’s my fault, exactly,” she said. “Or, it wasn’t at first. I was being good and not getting in trouble at school when it first started. But then it seemed like I was making everything worse. You yelled all the time and Mama seemed so sad and everything was awful. And then. Then she left.” Iliana bit her lip before saying the last part, because she was about to cry and she hated to cry. “I don’t understand why she left us, Mami. Nobody ever told me why.”

“Oh, baby girl. Come here.”

Ily let her mami pull her closer and bury a kiss in her hair. And when she spoke, it sounded like _she_ was about to cry, too.

“Iliana, she didn’t leave us. She didn’t leave _you_. I mean, God, she really didn’t even leave _me_. It broke her heart to go, but she thought she was doing the right thing. Our fighting was hurting you, and we couldn’t seem to stop doing it. She thought it was what was best for you.”

“So it was my fault she left.”

“No! Iliana Marie, look at me. _NO._ Parents make decisions that they think are in their kids’ best interest and sometimes kids don’t understand, and this is just one of those things. You just have to trust me, and trust Mama, that her moving out wasn’t your fault. Not even almost. Do you hear me?”

Ily nodded against her mami’s chest.

“You did nothing wrong, baby girl. Well. Until today, that is.”

Ily groaned. She knew they’d get around to this part soon. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry for which part?”

“I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“And?”

“And leaving the house when I know I’m not allowed.”

“And?”

“And not coming home when you told me to.”

“And?”

“I … uh.”

“How about putting yourself in danger and taking at least 10 years off my life and putting your aunt and uncles in an impossible position and trying to meddle in something that you don’t understand and giving me my first gray hairs. How about that?”

“Yeah, okay, I’m sorry for all of that, too.”

“You’re super grounded.”

Ily turned to look at her mami, curious. “What’s that mean?”

“I don’t know yet, but it’s not going to be pleasant.”

Ily giggled.

“What’s funny? This isn’t funny. Being punished isn’t supposed to be funny.” Her expression remained stern as she snaked an arm over and started tickling her daughter’s belly.

Giggles turned to squeals and uncontrollable laughter as Ily tried in vain to roll off the bed and away from the tickle attack but Santana held her in place and reupped her efforts.

“S-s-s-stop! Puh-leeeese! Mami! I can’t … breathe!” Ily managed through her laughter. A few more seconds and the tickling stopped.

“Consider that payback,” Santana proclaimed. She sat up, getting back to business. “Now I want you to give me your tablet. I’m taking the cable to your TV, too. Your new bedtime is 7:30, and that’s lights out, not time for reading or quiet play.”

Ily frowned. “It’s not even dark then,” she protested.

Santana raised an eyebrow. “Oh, honey, I’m just getting started. Save your complaining for when I get to the real punishment.”

“I shoulda made more demands,” Iliana grumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” Santana asked sharply.

“Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought. Now, look at me, Iliana Marie.”

The girl complied.

“Do you know how much I love you?”

Iliana considered. “A lot?”

“More than a lot. More than you can even imagine. And if you ever, ever start to question that, I want you to remember this moment, and me telling you that there is nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you. No matter how angry I get or how much I yell—and I’m sorry, mija, but I’m a yeller—you need to know that my love for you never moves an inch. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mami.”

“Good. Now sit here and I’ll send Mama up. You be good and do not try to play her, Ily, do you hear me? She’s not going to cave to your puppy dog eyes.”

Iliana couldn’t help it; she gave her mama a smirk. “She always does,” she pointed out.

Santana bit the inside of her cheek so she could maintain her HBIC expression. “Don’t even try,” she warned.

Maybe when she leaned down and kissed her little girl on the cheek she lost a few tough-parent points, but she didn’t care. She loved this child more than life itself, and she’d be damned if she missed a moment to express that.

She met Brittany in the hallway, and they exchanged a look and a kiss just before Britt slipped past into their little girl’s room.

 


	9. It's Not Over Till the Bottom Drops Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's still work to do.

Mama sat down next to Ily on the bed and hugged her close. “How did it go with Mami, love bug?” she asked. Iliana hummed noncommittally and snuggled into her mama’s side. Brittany continued anyway. “You scared us really bad, you know. Not knowing where you were, that was an awful feeling. The worst. You can’t do that ever again, Ils.”

“’kay,” Ily murmured, still concentrating on breathing in her mama’s scent and only half listening. Brittany placed a finger under Iliana’s chin and tilted her face up until their eyes met.

“Nope, you gotta do better than that, friend. You can’t run away again, ever. Ever ever. Even if you think you’re doing it for a good reason, or if you get super mad at me or at Mami, or if you decide you want to join the circus. You can’t ever run away again.”

“I won’t.”

“I need a pinky swear.” Brittany extended her pinky finger and Iliana stared at it seriously for a few moments. This was a binding contract.

“What if the circus lets me be one of those trapeze people? That looks like fun.”

“Iliana Marie.”

“I’m just saying.”

“You’re not saying what I need you to say.”

Ily smirked, and it struck Brittany how much she looked like Santana. Her heart gave a pang. “You’re not saying what I need you to say, either,” Ily returned.

Brittany sighed. “Okay. I hear you. Let’s start there. What is it that you need me to say, baby?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Ooh, big word, little girl.” Brittany smiled and kissed her daughter on the forehead. “But even if you think it’s obvious, sometimes grown-ups have a hard time understanding the special way that kids think. So I might not know what you need from me, and I would hate to think I’m not saying something you need to hear. Tell me, please.”

“I don’t want you to get sad, though.”

“Well, I can’t promise I won’t get sad, but I promise I will be honest with you. And I won’t be mad or upset with you for saying it. Is that good enough?”

Iliana took a deep breath and stared at her hands. “I need you to say … I need to know … When can we be a family again? When are you coming home? Don’t you still love us?” The words tumbled out one on top of another and Brittany had to replay it in her head before she could make it out. And when she did, her heart gave another, sharper pang.

She must have let it show on her face, because Ily’s big brown eyes filled with worry. “See? I made you sad. I’m sorry, Mama.”

“No, baby, no, it’s okay that you asked. You hear me? It’s okay! That’s something I really didn’t do a good job of, and it’s my fault you don’t understand and I’m so sorry. I should have made sure you understood.” She took a breath and muttered to herself, “God, that was stupid.”

“That’s a bad word, Mama!” Iliana scolded. “That’s way worse than crap.”

Brittany nodded. “Yes, you’re right, we don’t say that word.”

There was some silence then as Brittany tried to think of how to explain to the child she’d broken why she’d had to leave. She also used the time to rein in her emotions so that she didn’t fully burst into tears when she began to speak. Finally, she sat cross-legged on the bed and pulled Ily up to face her, clutching both of the child’s small hands in both of her own.

“I need you to look at me, Iliana. Good, that’s good. Now, I need you to look me right in the eyes as I say this because I want to make sure it sticks, and I can only tell if it sticks if I see it in your eyes, okay?”

Used to her mama’s unique way of explaining things, Iliana simply nodded, holding the eye contact Brittany had initiated.

“You and your mami mean everything to me. _Everything_. There has never been a millisecond—a _nanosecond_ —of my life that I haven’t loved you with every cell in my body. And your mami? Baby, she is the only person I have ever loved with the grown-up kind of love, the kind of love that makes me feel full inside and complete and able to do all those things I want to do but people always told me were impossible. Your mami makes me feel like I could fly, if I wanted to. Like I could just take off and I’d be flying with just the power of my love for her and hers for me. Do you get how special that is? How big?” She waited for Ily’s wide-eyed nod before continuing. “Being apart from you both has been like having two pieces of my heart ripped out, and I know that’s gross, but that’s how I feel. And I know it’s been just as hard for you, and just as hard for Mami, but I can’t risk coming home if I think it could happen again. Because I know I’m not strong enough for that, and I think you’re finally healing and I won’t put you through it again, not until—” She broke off, biting at her lip, as if it suddenly struck her that there were things too fragile just yet to reveal to a brokenhearted eight-year-old. Even if it would give her hope. Because sometimes it’s the actual hope that ends up crushing you.

Ily only realized she was crying when a tear fell on their clasped hands. But that was okay; Mama was crying, too.

“But I’m not healing, Mama, I’m not. Mami’s not either; she cries and she drinks a lot of wine and she tells Aunt Rachel how bad it is. She’s angry all the time and I know. I know that means she’s not all angry but mostly sad. She needs you, Mama. We need you. Please come home.”

Brittany extracted her right hand long enough to wipe tears from Iliana’s cheeks even as more continued to fall.

“I didn’t want to leave,” she said. “I never wanted to leave, but we needed to stop hurting you.”

“This is worse, though. Can’t you see this is so much worse?”

A quiet sob escaped Brittany’s lips and she tried to reach for her daughter, but Iliana wasn’t having it. She pulled away forcefully, standing up from the bed and backing toward the doorway. “You aren’t coming home, that’s what you’re saying,” she cried, her voice coming out hoarse and tearful. “You know how much we’re hurting and you’re hurting too and you’d rather us be all broken like this than come home! No, don’t touch me!” She was shouting now, screaming at the top of her lungs and thinking only of lashing out at the person who was causing her this pain.

Brittany was crying openly now, too, and when Iliana yanked her arm free of her mama’s grasp and ran out of the bedroom door, she just stood with her face in her hands and wondered how something so beautiful as their family could have come to this ugly mess.

Iliana flew blindly down the stairs two at a time, running at a breakneck pace and heading for the front door. She didn’t make it there, though. Two strong arms wrapped around her middle and the force of her forward momentum took her breath away. Then she was swept up into Mami’s embrace. She immediately buried her face in her shoulder and sobbed for all she was worth.

“I hate her, I hate her, I hate her,” she chanted over and over, the words muffled but audible against the shoulder of Santana’s rapidly dampening sweater.

“Shhh, baby. Mami’s got you. Hush now. You’re okay. We’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”

She held her daughter and murmured those pretty lies as Brittany stood frozen in the middle of the stairwell watching them and aching to the tips of her toes.

 


	10. Easy Doesn't Do It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany and Santana, later that night...

The house was quiet, but it didn't _feel_ quiet. The echoes of the earlier turmoil seemed to be still bouncing from wall to wall, room to room. Would this place ever feel like home again? Brittany wondered, shifting on the couch so she could rest her head on the armrest and look around the darkened living room. She assumed everyone else was asleep. It was late, and Iliana had tired herself out long ago, curled up in their—in _Santana's_ —bed in a tight little ball of cotton nightie and silky dark hair. Untouchable, unreachable. She wouldn't look at Brittany even as Brittany sat on the edge of the bed and did all but beg for her daughter’s understanding. She felt like her heart was in pieces with sharp edges that cut her every time she moved. That's why she didn't look up when she heard the bedroom door close softly and the sound of Santana's socked feet padding over to the couch. Or when her wife sat down next to her and rested a hand on her bare knee. 

 

"You okay?"

 

Brittany hummed a non-answer. 

 

"She doesn't understand, Britt. She's angry because she doesn't understand and because there's nothing she can do about this. She's like me when she can't get her way, y’know? … Only she's smaller and even less rational." 

 

Brittany opened one eye to fix her wife with a meaningful look. 

 

"I am _too_ more rational than an eight-year-old." After a brief pause, she shrugged, giving in a little as she muttered, "Usually." 

 

"Sure you are, honey,” Brittany conceded. 

 

"So, ah. Iliana didn't talk much once I got her calmed down, and before she was calm she was just … sobbing.” Brittany flinched at Santana’s words. “But from what I did manage to gather, she's under the impression that you're ... well ... not coming home?" 

 

Brittany froze and opened her other eye to look at Santana, waiting for her to go on because she was just too emotionally drained to do this again so soon. 

 

"I thought ... I mean, earlier, we ..." 

 

Santana trailed off, her head tilted to the side so that long dark locks spilled over one shoulder as she fixed Brittany with That Look she was never able to deny. "Was I wrong about that? About, like, what that meant?" Santana caught her lip between her teeth and bit down, a nervous habit she wasn't even aware of. 

 

The silence was loud, and Brittany could hear her own heartbeat and wondered briefly if Santana could, too. 

 

"San, I want to," she began. "You know I do." 

 

"So what's stopping you?" 

 

"What I want isn't what matters here, not really. Neither is what you want, or what Iliana wants. Otherwise this would be easy." 

 

"Okay, Brittany, I give up. What matters here?" 

 

"I need to be sure." 

 

"Of what? Of me?" Santana's voice cracked on the last word, the hurt clear in her eyes. 

 

"No, God no, baby, I'm always sure of you." Brittany pried Santana's hands away from her chest, where she had folded her arms in that defensive posture she had that had been her second nature since Brittany had known her. Once she got them loose, she squeezed them tightly in both of hers. Santana didn't return the squeeze, but she didn't pull away. Brittany could feel her pulling away in other ways, though, bracing herself against the blow she knew was coming. 

 

"What are you not sure of then, Brittany?" Santana's voice was chilly, and Brittany had to clasp her wife's hands harder to keep her from shutting down completely. It was delicate business, dealing with Santana when she was hurting. Sometimes Brittany thought it was like tending to a wounded animal. You had to be careful. Ily was the same way. Brittany knew her girls. 

 

Santana yanked half-heartedly but was unable to break Brittany's grip, so she settled for glaring down at their clasped hands as if she could set fire to them by sheer force of will. 

 

"I need to be sure that this is for good, San. That I'm not going to move back in here and everything will be perfect bliss for a couple of weeks until ... until it's not. Until you accuse me again, or until we start fighting over the hours we're working and stop talking about real stuff. I can't do that to us. I can't do that to our daughter, and if you stopped to think about it, you'd realize that you can't do that either." 

 

"So we _won't_!" Santana argued, and her voice betrayed the desperation she was trying so hard to keep from showing up on her face. “We will make it work, Britt, we always have!”

 

“I love you too much to just _make it work_ , Santana,” Brittany said softly. “You deserve more than that, and Iliana deserves more than that. Honey, we _all_ do.”

 

“What do you want from me, Brittany, I’ll do anything. Okay? I’ll stop being such a bitch all the time, I’ll cut back on my hours, I’ll prove to you every single day that you and Ily are the only priorities in my life. Is that enough? Will you just _stay_?”

 

Brittany pressed her wife’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. “Baby, it’s not that simple.”

 

Santana jerked her hand back and shot Brittany a fiery look. “Don’t you DARE do that, don’t you talk to me like I’m Iliana and I don’t get it. You know what I think? I think you’re _looking_ for reasons not to come back.”

 

Santana Lopez and her mercurial moods. Britt couldn’t say she’d never experienced them before, but they always made her head spin. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to let the anger in her wife’s words show for it really was: hurt and fear.

 

“San, if there were a quick fix, I’d take it. You know that, right? But this is too important to rush. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you more than life, and I’m not going to give up on us. If you think that’s what this is, then—”

 

"Just go." 

 

Brittany's head shot up. "What?" Despite the trajectory this conversation had been taking, she still felt a painful jolt at her wife's words—and her tone, which was detached, emotionless, and utterly un-Santana. "You want me to ..." 

 

"Damn it, Britt, you know that's exactly NOT what I want. But, I mean, if you're leaving, you should just do it. We can't just sit here pouring salt in our wounds all night, right? It'll be easier to just fucking rip the band-aid off and get it over with.”

 

"Wh-what about Ily?" Brittany asked after clearing her throat, which suddenly felt tight and constricted. 

 

The look she got in return could have drawn blood. "Do _you_ want to wake her up and tell her you're leaving?" It wasn't even a question, of course it wasn't. Brittany knew that was probably the worst possible thing she could do right now. She stood up shakily, smoothing her hair and swiping at the tear tracks on her cheeks. She hoped Santana would look at her, but her wife stared determinedly at her own hands, which were picking aimlessly at some nonexistent lint on her tee-shirt. 

 

"Tell her ... San, please tell her ..." Brittany broke off, not knowing exactly what she could say to her daughter that hadn't already been said, and rejected, by the grieving little girl. 

 

"I've got it," Santana said, her tone not exactly warm but not as icy as it had been moments ago. 

 

Brittany grabbed her dance bag from the countertop and started for the door, suddenly needing to make her exit before she started to really cry. She froze with her hand on the doorknob when Santana called her name, and their eyes met across the room. It seemed like Santana was struggling to find words, which in itself was a rarity, but then at last she managed a tiny, barely there smile and said something they always used to say to each other, words that meant care and concern and, in this case, reassurance: "Text me when you get home." 

 

Britt nodded, resisting the urge to correct her wife _(_ this is my home), and stepped out into the hallway. 

 

* * *

 

The two mothers couldn't have known that the girl in the next room had heard it all, and even if they had known, they wouldn't have been able to predict her next move. Because as Iliana tiptoed back to her mami's bed and curled up under the covers, pretending that she'd been there all along, all she could think about was her mama saying that the reason she wasn't coming back was because of HER. 

 

_"I can't do that to our daughter, and if you stopped to think about it, you'd realize that you can't do that either."_ That's what Mama had said. As if Iliana were too fragile, too young and stupid to understand that couples have fights. Even couples who love each other as much as her mommies do. She just had to convince Mama that she was wrong. That Ily could handle it, that their family was worth the risk. 

 

So she was going to take ANOTHER risk, this one of the they-might- _actually_ -kill-her variety, and go talk to Mama tomorrow. At her studio. Face to face. 

 

Iliana would make her listen to reason. 

 

 

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Sorry for the slow updates. I got a job that requires me to WRITE all day, so it's sometimes hard to come home and write some more, even if it's for pleasure after-hours. I hope you like this chapter. We'll be wrapping up soon. Reviews are lovely and much appreciated!**


	11. Closing Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ily tries.

Brittany had just gotten to the studio and started warming up for her first class when she heard a little squeaky sound behind her, a rubber-soled sneaker scuffing lightly against the polished dance floor. She gasped and spun around so fast it took her brain a moment to catch up her eyes and register what she was seeing. And when she did...

 

"Iliana Marie! What are you doing here, young lady? And I better not hear anything but that your mami drove you here and is waiting for you out front." 

 

Ily frowned and remained silent until her mama huffed out an exasperated breath.

 

"Well? Answer me, Iliana." 

 

"You said you didn't want to hear." 

 

"Tell me that your mami knows where you are, at LEAST." 

 

"You don't like it when I lie." 

 

"Ilyyyyy, why?" Brittany almost whined. 

 

"I needed to talk to you," Ily said simply, shrugging. "Mami would've said no and I'm already in trouble anyway so I figured it couldn't get much worse." 

 

"I wouldn't count on that," Brittany muttered, crossing over to the hooks on the wall opposite the mirrors and rummaging through her dance bag. "Sit down while I call her and tell her you're safe." 

 

"Okay, but Mama? Please tell her not to come here. You can bring me home after your first class, right? So I can tell you what I came here to tell you?" The little girl saw her mother preparing to argue and decided begging couldn't hurt. "Please, Mama? Pretty please with sugar on top, and cherries and whipped cream and gummy bears." 

 

Brittany sighed and shook her head, but it was a "What can I do" type of head shake, not a "No." In an effort to retain some small measure of authority, Brittany pointed a stern finger at her daughter. "Sit," she repeated. Ily sat, chewing her bottom lip to hide her small smile of satisfaction. 

 

The side of the conversation Iliana could hear did not bode well, what with the multiple times that her mama had to break off as she was interrupted by the angry-sounding, faraway voice Ily could hear even from several yards away and the four separate times her mama said, "Please calm down." She even called her "Sanny," a pet name that only made an appearance when Brittany was pulling out all the stops to get through to her beloved hothead. After a few uncomfortable (for Ily) minutes, her mama ended the call and tossed her phone back in her bag. 

 

"She mad?" Iliana asked. 

 

Brittany raised an eyebrow at her in an astonishingly good impression of Aunt Quinn. 

 

"Okay, buddy. I went to bat for you. Now you gotta tell me exactly what you're doing here and it better be worth it. Go." 

 

Iliana stood up and went to stand in front of her mama. She reached for her hands and looked up into her kind blue eyes and said what had been burning in her heart since last night. "I love you." 

 

Brittany looked momentarily surprised, but after taking a moment to swallow her emotion at hearing that simple, powerful, unbearably raw statement from the little girl who had been so angry at her, she said, "I love you too, baby. Bigger than cheese. You know that." 

 

"I love Mami. Do you love Mami?" 

 

"Iliana, you know I do. What kind of question is that?" 

 

"She loves you too." 

 

Brittany frowned, not understanding why it was so vitally important to the girl to tell her these things right now. So much so that she was _literally_ risking her butt to sneak out of the house and come here after she'd been punished for just this very thing a day ago. 

 

"Honey - " 

 

"No, please let me talk. Aunt Rachel says that if you have the floor, it's yours fair and square until you give it to someone else. That means I get to talk until I'm done. It's Broadway rules." 

 

Britt smirked a little, but nodded for Ily to continue. 

 

"You don't want to come home yet because you think it might not work. That you guys will go back to fighting all the time. But more than that you're worried that I will break into pieces if you come home and then that happens. I know that's what you think; I was listening to you last night, and yes, I know it's not nice to eavesdrop but this was important." She took a breath and hurried on, because she could sense her mama getting ready to cut in, Broadway rules or not. "Mama, do you think I'm strong?" 

 

Brittany reeled at this new curve ball. The girl was thinking a mile ahead of her. "Of _course_ I do," she said. 

 

"I'm strong like you and I'm strong like Mami?" 

 

"Stronger. You're our Superbaby." 

 

"Well then you know better," Iliana said in an almost scolding tone. "You KNOW that I won't break. I can handle it if things don't go right. I've been handling it since you left. There's only one thing I can't handle, Mama, and that's if you don't TRY." 

 

Iliana's gaze was direct and piercing, daring her mama to say that none of this mattered, it wasn’t the point and Ily was too young to understand. So when Brittany did open her mouth, Ily quickly interrupted, wanting to drive it all home before she could be told something she knew for a fact to be utterly untrue.

 

“I’m _not_ too young to understand, Mama,” she said emphatically. “Even kids know how love’s supposed to work. Maybe we’re the _only_ ones who do.”

 

* * *

 

Santana was livid. She couldn’t _believe_ that Iliana had pulled this shit again, just a day after the first time. She must be losing her touch, her connection to the Santana Lopez who had been known and feared at McKinley High and for years after among those who’d known her then. She should’ve taken it out of the kid’s ass the second Rachel and Kurt showed up with her, forget Brittany’s gentle, talk-it-out approach to parenting. Iliana sure as hell would’ve thought twice before sneaking out again if Santana had handled things her way yesterday.

 

Fortunately for everyone concerned, Britt’s call had come almost simultaneously with the moment Santana had realized their daughter wasn’t in the apartment. So the surge of relief crashed into a wave of pissed off and the result was that Santana was practically shaking under the influence of both emotions.

 

Before hanging up, she had reluctantly agreed to let Brittany bring the girl home after her first class let out. But that deal wasn’t sitting right. Ily was playing them again, as if what they’d been through yesterday hadn’t been hard enough. She thought that this time she would lure Brittany back home – again – and that this time she would have some sort of epiphany and realize that she couldn’t leave. It was grownup crap and Iliana had no business butting in.

 

So Santana was going to butt her right the hell _out_.

 

She didn’t want to see Brittany right now – the very thought, in fact, made her ache – but she was not going to be played by an eight-year-old. Even if that eight-year-old kind of owned her. Throwing on a black sweatshirt and jeans, pulling her long hair through a baseball cap, and stepping into unlaced cross trainers, she headed out the door and down the street toward the dance studio.

 

 


	12. Never Farther Than Fingertips

When Santana burst through the front doors of the dance studio, she was a woman on a mission. A search and destroy mission. She was pissed, and her daughter and her wife were both going to hear about it. Frankly she didn't even know why she was so angry at Brittany, except that this whole thing didn't have to even BE a thing. If Britt had just stayed put they would have worked it out eventually without all this heartache and anger and guilt and fear and without their kid turning into a habitual runaway and now everything was all complicated and messy and ugly. She stomped down the hall, making a beeline for Britt's classroom, so caught up in her own angry thoughts that she didn't hear the music playing softly, growing louder as she got closer. Then she stopped in the doorway and the sight that met her eyes was so fucking _adorable_ that her anger melted away almost instantly, like it was a block of ice and she'd held it up to an open flame. 

 

She was glad they didn't see her, or they would've stopped dancing. Watching them moving to this music, some overplayed pop song that nevertheless had a nice beat and managed to be not too fast and not too slow, Santana felt her heart almost bursting out of her chest with love for the two of them. It made her feel a little dizzy and off-kilter, the change in emotion, as if someone had quite rudely and without warning ripped the rug out from under her, and she even placed a hand on the doorjamb to steady herself. 

 

The small movement caught Brittany's eye through the mirror but she didn't miss a step, acknowledging her wife with only a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth that was almost a smile and a sudden glint in her eye. Iliana was too caught up in dancing with her graceful mama to notice anything, her small body circling, dipping, stepping, and twirling, making her glossy dark hair fan out around her, and Santana thought that the dimpled smile on her face was one she had not seen there in months. 

 

The song faded away and Brittany walked over to turn off the sound system as Ily placed her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath. "Mama, can we do another one?" she asked even though she looked like she was about to drop. 

 

Brittany smiled at her and said, "You might want to ask Mami." 

 

Following her mama's gaze, Ily spun around to face the woman in question, and her heart dropped. She resisted the urge to go and hide behind her mama. 

 

"Oh ... crap." 

 

"Iliana Marie," came the perfectly synchronized double scolding from both moms. 

 

"I'm sorry I left Mami, please don't be mad, I had to come here, I had to." 

 

Santana pointed a finger at her daughter. "You know what, we'll circle back to that. I need to talk to your mama. Go wait out in the hall." 

 

"But Mami, I -" 

 

The look that Santana shot her way was enough to make her mouth snap closed. She slunk from the room, giving her newly arrived mother a wide berth. Once Iliana was in the hallway, the classroom door closed. Lucky for her, though, the acoustics of an empty dance studio were such that every sound was not only audible, but it actually echoed. She slid down the wall and hugged her knees, listening and hoping beyond hope that this wouldn't go badly. 

 

* * *

 

"What the hell, Britt?" 

 

"Um, do you want to start over, San? That's not how this discussion is going to go." 

 

There was a brief pause as Santana was sort of taken aback by her wife's firm tone and the sharp look in her eyes. 

 

"I'm just SAYING, you should have CALLED me." 

 

"Are you actually insane? I did. That's why you're here right now, even though you TOLD ME you would let me talk to her and bring her home later." 

 

"I'm too mad, I can't sit home alone when I'm mad."

 

"What are you mad about, San? I mean, at Ily, sure, right there with you. But stop and think about why you're mad at me. When you have an answer, please tell me." 

 

"Because you. She. I didn't. Oh, fuck, Britt, I don't know! I want you to come home and I hate begging. I shouldn't have to beg you to do this. The only reason I can come up with as to why you left us again, especially after what happened yesterday - " 

 

"Mind-blowing sex," Brittany supplied. 

 

"Yes. The only reason I could think that you would bail again after THAT is that you really don't want to come home. You say that you do but that you're staying away until we're on more solid footing but how's that going to happen if you're not home? Because I can't stop being angry at you, Brittany, not while you're living somewhere that's not with me. And it's this whole stupid cycle like we're stuck on one of those traffic roundabouts and there's just no way we can fix it. And that's YOUR fault. I know that the rest of it is mine, I KNOW that. I'm a bitch and I'm almost impossible to love, I've never understood why you do, but I need you so much and I want to scream at you and I want to break things every time I think about you because you're not WITH me. JESUS!" She slammed her fist against the mirrored wall and Brittany reached out to grab her wrist so she didn't hurt herself. 

 

"Santana, stop it. Stop." Brittany grasped her wife's other hand and pulled her into an embrace as Santana dissolved into tears. "You've got to calm down, baby, do you hear me? We will talk but not like this, not like this." 

 

"Mama?" A small voice sounded from the doorway. Both women looked over to see their daughter peeking through a small crack in the door, her dark eyes wide and scared. 

 

"Stay out in the hall, Ily. Mami and I need some privacy." 

 

"But ... I didn't want this. I didn't mean to make it worse. Mami, stop yelling at her." 

 

"Iliana, do what I said, please," Brittany said more firmly. 

 

"I will but ... Mama, can you tell her, please? What we talked about?” She stepped all the way into the studio and approached her parents. “Mami, we talked and you need to stop shouting and hitting things and listen to what Mama has to tell you." 

 

Santana swiped at the tear tracks on her face before pulling fully away from her wife and landing her gaze on her tiny carbon copy. “I believe you were told to wait in the hall, what was it, three times now? This is your last warning, if you know what’s good for you.”

 

Iliana seemed hellbent on doing exactly the opposite of what was good for her because the child actually stamped her foot. “No!” she snapped.

 

Santana's still-streaming eyes flashed fire and Brittany gave a weary sigh, knowing her girls were on a crash course with one another. "Ex _cuse_ me, young lady?” Santana said, her tone dangerous.

 

“San.”

 

They both ignored Brittany’s attempt to intervene before this got out of hand. “You told me last night I wasn’t being fair to Mama, and now you’re not being fair to her! She needs to tell you something but you gotta stop yelling at her and LISTEN!”

 

Santana stalked forward and took hold of Iliana’s arm, turning her quickly to the side and giving her three sharp swats on the ass. Ily shrieked her protest, struggling out of her mami’s grip and refusing to cry.

 

“Santana, enough!” Britt intervened, stepping between her wife and daughter and placing a calming hand on Santana’s chest. “Iliana. Hall. Now.” To soften the words, she turned and gave the little girl a meaningful look. “It’s all right, baby. Mami and I are going to talk just like you and I did.”

 

When the door shut behind Ily, Brittany turned back to Santana, who immediately went on the defensive. “Don’t even start with me, Britt, she had that coming from the second she walked out the door the first time, and…”

 

“Hey. _Hey_. You and Ily have your own way of doing things,” Brittany said appeasingly. “It may not be my way but it’s … whatever. Santana, I need you to sit down and talk to me. _Talk_. Not like yesterday. Yesterday we let the fighting get too passionate and that … it was GOOD, but it didn’t get us anywhere.”

 

Santana smirked. “It got us somewhere.”

 

“Well, _duh_ ,” Brittany replied, rolling her eyes dismissively. “But we need to talk with our mouths. I mean – no! With _words_ , God, Santana!”

 

“Okay, okay, I hear you. So talk.”

 

Brittany pulled her wife over to a corner of the studio and they both sank down the mirrors and landed seated next to one another, legs sprawled out before them and hands intertwined.

 

“I love you.”

 

Santana hadn’t expected Britt to open with that. She looked up, surprised.

 

“I love you more than I love life itself, Santana, and I always have and I always will. You taught me about real love when we were just _kids_ , and you keep teaching me, every day. Do you know that?”

 

It was rhetorical, so Santana just pressed her full lips together and waited.

 

“But what we have to work on is trust. I know your instincts, baby, and I get it. I do. You see me with someone who is not you, you see a bond forming and your mind goes to that place where you’re not worthy or whatever and you think I’m always looking for something more. But Santana Lopez, there IS no more. There is nothing greater, there is no one more perfect for me than you. Don’t you understand that yet? No. No, you don’t, because you’re still carrying around so much self-doubt. But honey. I will spend the rest of our lives reminding you of it, until you believe it yourself. And one day I could go out with an NFL team and all the contestants from Miss America and you won’t bat an eye because you know that there is no one in the world for me but you.”

 

Santana was silent for so long that Brittany placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head so that she had to look at her.

 

“I love you and no one but you, Santana. I am guilty of being selfish with your time because I never feel like there’s enough of it. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I was too afraid to tell you how I was feeling because the conflict … it’s something I’ve never been good at. You know that about me. But I want to start over and I want to come home. And do you know who made me realize that that’s the only answer we ever needed?”

 

Santana’s tear-filled eyes spilled over as she nodded. “Our baby girl.”

 

Brittany smiled. “Our baby girl. Born from love and raised in love and a tiny spitfire version of you with less fear and more emotional maturity than both of us combined.”

 

“That kid I just spanked and sent out of here in tears?” Santana asked in a half-amused tone that was nevertheless choked with emotion.

 

“That’s the one,” Brittany agreed.

 

“Remind me to thank her after I finish here.”

 

Santana leaned into her wife’s embrace and as their mouths met she knew it was all going to be okay. This time the tears that spilled down her cheeks and mingled with the taste of Brittany were tears of relief. Hope. Fucking **_LOVE._**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
